


this is the place

by bluerthanyou



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Feelings, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, Nicknames, Sexual Tension, Sexuality, Slow Burn, Strangers to Lovers, a mess of metaphors and catching feelings, i was so excited to put this out that i didnt even get a beta so pls excuse any typos, side alex/james, this has taken so long
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:47:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23486311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluerthanyou/pseuds/bluerthanyou
Summary: “Oh,” Alex says, noticing George’s curiosity. “I forgot to say. This is Will - he’s one of Fraser’s mates.” As Alex introduces the boy, George notices Will’s lip is quirked interestedly towards him, and George finds himself biting down on his bottom lip to stop another foolish smile spreading across his face. George decides he likes how Will sounds on the tip of his tongue.
Relationships: George Andrew/Will Lenney
Comments: 16
Kudos: 170





	this is the place

**Author's Note:**

> SO. she's finally done. it feels strange, this fic being completed, because it's taken up so much of the last few months, and idk what im gonna do now it's done.
> 
> but! this is my baby. i started this fic last year, but my dumbass had writer's block for a looong while and could not continue it. however i am glad i did bc im proud of myself for finally completing a fic. (there have been too many occasions where ive ditched a fic halfway through).
> 
> idk what else to say except i hope you enjoy this fic! in my excitement to put it on ao3, i didn't get it beta'd so please excuse any typos! and feel free to let me know what you thought of it in the comments afterwards bc it would give me so much serotonin :)
> 
> title from 'lift' by radiohead. 10/10 would recommend listening to.

The spitting rain perfectly complements George’s foul mood. He’s walking back home, teeth clenched painfully and his arms tucked underneath his new hoodie to avoid the cold. His phone vibrates against his pocket like a persistent, nagging itch that must be scratched. George hastily pulls it from his pocket before he can think any more about who could want to talk to him on a moody Friday afternoon. 

It’s Alex.

‘ _You’re still coming, yeah?’_ It reads. 

George exhales, grey clouds of frosty air passing his lips concurrently. ‘ _Of course, 2 mins’_ , he types with fleeting haste that disappears as the message is marked as sent. He walks through the trees on the side of the street where his and Alex’s apartment block protrudes nastily through two houses and makes his way towards them.

Warm laughter and conversation echo from the lounge as he unlocks the door and hangs up his too-big coat on the rack next to Alex’s array of pink hoodies. He wonders what they’re saying.

“Oh, hey, George,” James says as the boy sets foot in the lounge. “Thought you weren’t coming.”

George’s mouth falls open slightly in surprise. “I told you I was coming,” he says, suddenly feeling empty, hands hanging heavy by his sides like they don’t belong to him. He feels like he’s different parts of different people. It’s like he’s Frankenstein’s monster.

Then he notices the unfamiliar boy sitting next to Fraser on the sofa. George’s brain suddenly allows him to smile back at this boy because he’s got a warm, friendly grin and crinkly eyes that remind him of cosy fires and walks over crisp brown leaves. The boy’s slim - all jutted lines and sharp edges, with long, long legs and nicely browned arms from the sun. Dark hair curls over green-grey eyes and George is suddenly transfixed because, the boy, he’s _pretty._

“Oh,” Alex says, noticing George’s curiosity. “I forgot to say. This is Will - he’s one of Fraser’s mates.” As Alex introduces the boy, George notices Will’s lip is quirked interestedly towards him, and George finds himself biting down on his bottom lip to stop another foolish smile spreading across his face. George realises Will is sticking out a hand to greet him, all long fingers and veins, so the smaller boy shakes his hand timidly, feeling his face flush bright red as this new lad gives him an intense smile. George decides he likes how _Will_ sounds on the tip of his tongue. 

“And you’re George, yeah?” Will asks then, nicely enough, Geordie accent prominent in his voice. George nods, unable to say anything else. “I’ve heard about you.”

George blinks before a hurried laugh is escaping him through an exhale. “Good things?” 

“Of course, mate,” Will says in return, hand squeezing against his shoulder like they've been mates for years. George could’ve sworn it was true.

*

At five past ten, George can feel his eyes drooping already, fluttering with sleep. “Think I’m gonna go to bed,” he says to Alex, who’s still revelling in his previous Fifa win. “Wanna get some rest.” He pulls himself off the couch, picking up his phone from where it was cascaded hours ago when they’d first started playing. James and Fraser are slumped across his sofa, faces slack, more soft and relaxed under the guise of sleep. Will had left the room a few minutes ago to get a glass of water before bed, and George had, for the first time in a while, felt a genuine smile on his lips as the taller boy nodded at him on the way. The thing is, Will was _nice._ It wasn’t that Alex and Fraser and James weren’t nice, it just sometimes felt like they were always worried about him. Often they felt like his parents.

Alex pauses the game, looking up at him with big questioning eyes. “It’s only ten,” he says after looking at the time on his phone. “Usually you’re up until the early hours. You okay?” 

Alex’s unadulterated concern hurts a little, but George swallows and looks out of the window at where an oldish woman is pushing through the wind, umbrella bracing the weather. He hopes she gets home alright.

“Course I’m alright, Al,” George says. “Just a bit tired.”

Alex nods up at him, eyes squinting as if he’s trying to burrow into his brain and figure out what’s going on. “Okay,” Alex says. “Do you mind showing Will to the spare room then?” 

The words barely leave Alex’s mouth when Will then appears from the kitchen door holding a glass of water in one hand and his phone in the other. “Hey,” he says beautifully. It’s important to note that at his full height, Will towers a head over him. Throughout the evening, George had found himself timidly staring up at the taller boy as he jumped up after every Fifa win or impressive pass, television perfectly highlighting the light and shadow on his cheeks.

But, ever the coward, George just nods. “Of course,” he mumbles, blinking earnestly at Will before he’s pulling his bottom lip into his mouth and walking out of the lounge, praying Will is walking behind him. They climb the stairs, and George is aware of Will’s presence curling over him as they top the last step. He turns around on the landing, so he’s facing the taller boy. Will smiles down at him in amusement. There’s a beat of silence, and George swallows, completely enraptured for a single second that seems to stretch out for eternity. 

“We haven’t spoken much, have we?” Will questions, hand on George’s shoulder again, firm and warm, grounding him. He feels like he’s being pulled down from a great height, back to reality.

George shakes his head at this statement, leaning against the poorly painted bannister that Alex had tried to paint pink the week he’d moved in. The paint had coagulated, and Alex had given up, striding back into his room in a characterful huff. “Sorry,” George attempts, voice tight and strangled in his throat. “Didn’t mean to come off like an arse.”

“You didn’t,” Will says with a smile that George swears is the most wonderful he’s ever seen. “But your friends are worried about you.” The screensaver from Alex’s computer, through his open door, casts gold over their faces. “They say you’ve gone quiet lately.” 

Blinking, George meets his eyes. “They always do worry about me too much,” he mumbles like it’s nothing. “I’m okay.”

Will seems to accept this as a satisfactory answer because, seconds later, George is pushing open the door to the spare room. It’s a bleak white room with a bed, a nightstand and a big window. George had slept there when he hadn’t felt like himself, and when his own bedroom didn't feel like it belonged to him. Alex had patted his shoulder and said it was okay. Alex had done enough comforting for his own good.

“Here it is,” George says, gesturing vaguely at the room. 

“Thanks,” Will says simply, before he’s turning around to face George again, illuminated in the doorway. _He’s pretty_. “G’night, George.”

“Night,” George replies in barely a whisper before the door shuts and he's left with the dim illumination of the landing to light the way back to his bedroom.

*

“Morning,” Alex says sleepily, shuffling into the kitchen. He’s in sweats, a pink hoodie and his face is dusty with sleep, one side of his face creased from what’s presumably his pillow. “How come you’re up so early?”

George pauses his frying and looks at the watch on his wrist. “Twenty past eight isn’t that early, Alex.” 

Sitting at the barstool, Alex pulls a discarded beanie over his dishevelled hair. “It’s early for people who aren’t psychopaths.”

Eyes narrowed, George continues with his frying. The pan spits at him furiously, begging for his attention.

“So, did you get a chance to talk to Will much yesterday?” Alex pipes up after he’s poured himself a coffee and settled down at the bar.

“Not really,” George shrugs. “He seems nice enough, though.” Truth is, George is scared. He’s terrified of the last part of him falling away and turning him into an empty shell of himself. Will could be the one to expose it, and he doesn’t know if he’s ready for people to see what he’s like on the inside. 

Alex mindlessly taps against the mug in his hand before he’s firmly catching George’s gaze again. “Let him in though, yeah? He’s a nice guy.”

George slides the two eggs onto a plate and pushes it towards Alex, ignoring his friend’s previous statement. “Think I’m gonna go for a walk.” Alex gapes up at him as George grabs his jacket.

“George, please,” Alex tries. “I didn’t mean it like that.” He’s desperate, eyes pleading and worrisome as the other boy prepares to leave the flat. George knows he needs to stop running away from everybody and everything, but he also knows he’s too proud to give up.

George, lip wobbling, furiously brushes a tear from his eye. “I’m not mad. Just need some air.”

“Okay,” Alex says gently as if he’s given up trying. It hurts deep down in George’s gut like the guilt is stabbing at him from the inside out. Alex has tried too many times to help him; his kindness is too much that it hurts.

George hastily leaves the kitchen.

Will’s coming down the stairs by the time George has sat down on the bottom step to lace up his shoes, eyes wet and cold from the tears, vision blurring as he tries to find the eyelet.

“Morning, fella,” Will says brightly from behind him, but his voice softens as George turns around, wet eyes prominent. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

George shakes his head and turns back to his laces. “I’m alright,” he replies quietly. “Just going for a walk.” Will comes to sit beside him on the bottom step, all tall and gentle as his arm wraps around George’s shoulder.

“I’ll come with you,” he says, voice seeping with warmth and kindness. “Need to clear my head too.”

George feels a thankful, watery smile edge onto his face, and he curses internally for allowing himself to be so easily swayed by one of Fraser’s mates that he’s only known for twelve hours. “Okay,” he says, cheeks pink.

*

They walk for a little way, the cold causing their breath to escape from their mouths in cool grey clouds. Will’s got his hood up over his dark hair and hands in the pocket of his hoodie. He’s tall and looming, and George can barely bring himself to look him in the eye.

“You know where you’re going?” Will asks.

George nods, hands suddenly freezing cold, so he shoves them in his pockets. “Yeah. Just gonna walk to the park.” He swallows, turning his face up to look at Will. A strong, handsome jaw and high cheekbones frame his face. “Is that alright?”

“Course it’s alright. Just want a chance to chat to you,” the taller boy replies, honesty ringing true from every bone in his body. “We never really got a chance to, as they were all talking over each other during Fifa last night.”

George feels his lips twitch like remnants of a smile. “Hard to get a word in, huh?”

Will laughs, all sunny, bright and beautiful as he throws his head back. “Oh, so it’s like that a lot?”

“Oh, yeah,” George says. “It’s worse when they’re drunk.” He kicks a pebble out of his path and pulls his jacket tighter over his body. Will laughs again, slinging an arm over his shoulder like they’re old pals reconnecting after a decade. 

“They’re all lovely, though,” Will says, charming smile making another appearance. “I can see why you’re mates with them.” 

George smiles again, cheeks pink, and decides at that moment that Will is wonderful.

They get to the park, and it’s empty and overgrown, climbing frame matted with moss, bedraggled vines, and nettles have grown over the gate, so it’s impossible to get through. It feels like George’s brain, so maybe that’s his reasoning for being there.

“Not trying to be mean here, George,” Will says as George climbs over the rickety fence. “But this is a shit park.”

“I don’t come here to swing,” George replies, looking up at Will through the light in the trees. The sun blinds him, and he squints. “Just to think.”

Will’s scoffing at this, leaping over the fence agilely, before racing over to the set of neglected, sad-looking swings in the corner of the playground. “You’re telling me,” he says, an eyebrow raised, “that you’ve never swung on one of these bad lads?”

George smiles at him, winter sun beating down on them. “Can’t say I have.”

“C’mon,” Will’s laughing as he sits down on one of the seats, so low that his feet drag against the ground. “Swing.”

“Alright, then.” And George sits down, next to Will on the rickety old swings in the middle of London. “We _will_ be the ones to break it, you know?”

“Oh, definitely,” Will gives him a playful shove from the side. “But it won’t break until we're both swinging, and _you_ aren’t swinging.”

“Are you trying to break it on purpose?” George huffs like a toddler.

Will grins at him. “Of course I am. Now swing.” He gives George another good-hearted shove, so he’s swinging lightly beside him.

“I’m not very good,” George says, attempting to swing higher, in vain. Will’s already swinging sky-high beside him.

“You’re shite at this, aren’t you?” Will says, laughing towards the sun. 

“Shut up.” Just as George thinks Will could top the swing-set and flip an entire three hundred and sixty degrees, he’s swinging back forwards and leaping off, landing perfectly on his feet, just as the wood of the swings creak in agonising pain.

“Move,” Will’s saying to him, “It’s gonna break.”

And it does, but they’ve already ran away, past the park and onto the pavement where they’re doubling over laughing and clutching at their sides. And this is when George realises this is the first time he’s properly laughed in weeks.

*

“Alex?” George says at the door of his bedroom. The youngest looks up from his computer, eyes concerned and worrying. He feels the tightness at the back of his throat begin to rise. “Can…can we talk?”

Alex almost looks relieved. “Yeah,” he breathes. “Of course.” 

“Um,” George starts, sitting on the edge of Alex’s bed. “I…I wanted to say that you were right…and I’m sorry.”

Alex’s eyebrows furrow delicately. “I was right? What about?” He turns around in his chair, so they’re facing each other.

George’s mind jolts back to him and Will running away from the park, laughing so hard they thought they could burst. He thinks about how Will grabbed his hand as they ran back towards the pavement.

“You said I should let Will in,” George breathes. “And you were right. He’s really nice. Too nice.”

Alex isn’t upset or disappointed. His lip doesn’t curl smugly, and he doesn't say ‘I told you so’. He just gets up from his chair and leans into George’s space to pull him into a tight hug. 

*

She’s beautiful, dark-haired and doe-eyed with straight white teeth and a sunny laugh like Will’s, and she’s tucked under his arm on Fraser and James’ sofa. She’s his female counterpart, all loud jokes and obnoxious laughter. George is sitting on the sofa opposite with Alex and James, condensation from the beer running down his hand in his oblivion.

Her name’s Mia, and Will says it all softly when he speaks to her. He taps her leg and laughs into her shoulder when she says something funny. She’s great at Fifa - better than George and Alex and probably everyone. She’d given George a firm handshake when they met. She confidently looked him in the eye, all long eyelashes and perfect eyeliner wings. She’s perfect. They’re perfect, and George damns himself for becoming so quickly hung up on Will. 

Alex is the first to be intoxicated, all flailing limbs and loud slurred statements that make everyone laugh. George takes a swig of beer silently, drunkenness not yet taking over his body. He watches as Alex, red-cheeked and grinning, unabashedly sits down right on James’ lap. Thing is, George knows. He knows drunken things Alex told him at one in the morning, months ago, walking home from Tesco. _“George, I think I’m in love with James.”_ George wasn’t surprised, he’d seen the longing looks and the touches that Alex must’ve thought were subtle. George had patted his shoulder under the dim light of the moon. _“It’s alright, mate.”_

But James doesn’t _get_ drunk. He’s six foot four - his body purely runs on testosterone. Any amount of alcohol just dissolves inside him before the night is even over, and he frequently ends up as the friend who gathers up the inebriated like a tired father. So when Alex is drunk, which doesn’t take much, James takes him back to the flat. It’s not hard to guess why Alex is in love with him.

George’s mind jolts back, tuning back into the heavy music and Fraser’s loud proposition. 

“Me and James will have to get you on one of our channels at some point,” he says to Mia, holding up his beer. “You can be our token female.”

Mia chuckles, all confident and unashamed. She claps Fraser on the shoulder like they’ve been friends for years. “Token female?” She laughs. George swallows, staring into the swirling brown remnants of his beer.

“You see, Mia, Fraser doesn’t get much female attention,” James laughs from beside George. “He’s taken this opportunity because he knows he won’t get it anywhere else.” They all burst out laughing, even Fraser, who takes the self-deprecating humour like it’s a joke about anybody else in the room.

“I get lots of female attention, actually,” Fraser’s argument fades out as George leaves the room and enters the kitchen, after asking if anyone else wanted another drink. He notices that Mia joins him seconds later.

“Hey,” she says once the kitchen door has swung shut on them, handing him the obviously placed bottle opener. The noise from the lounge becomes considerably more muffled.

“Oh,” George says like an idiot. “Thanks.” He cracks four cans of cider open, while Mia finds two more beers. 

“Will’s told me about all of you guys,” she says. “And I looked for your Youtube channel but I couldn’t find it.” She cracks open the beers, the lids clattering onto the countertop. 

George lets out a short laugh. “Oh, I don’t have one,” he admits, looking at the drinks to avoid making eye contact. Mia’s almost the same height as him, but she holds her height with assurance, while George backs into the shadows at any given moment.

“Why not?” She asks, leaning against the kitchen counter, so they’re facing each other. “I think you’d make a great Youtuber.”

George sighs. He’s used to people asking him why he hasn’t got a channel, in a friendship group where everybody has one. “I dunno,” he says. “Thought about it a few times, but…”

“But what?” She's insistent, and it almost bugs him.

“I…I guess I just don’t want the entire world to have to see my face,” George says, looking her in the eye. 

Mia shrugs like it’s nothing - like it’s easy. “Don’t show them your face, then.” And then she takes the two beers and goes back into the living room. Blinking, George follows with the rest of the drinks, Mia’s words ringing in the back of his brain like a persistent headache.

*

The next morning, there’s a knock on the door when George is editing some coursework. He gets up from his chair confusedly, leaning around the gap to yell to Alex.

“That for you, Al?”

There’s no reply from his hungover flatmate, so George shrugs and pads down the stairs in his socks towards the front door. 

Will grins up at him once he flings it open, eyes bright and wisps of dark hair falling out from under the hood of his coat. He stands with his hands in his pockets, expectant and cheerful. “Just the lad I was looking for.”

“What’s up?” George says shyly, taking note of the way Will looms over him in the doorway, tall and beaming.

“Just wanted to see how you and Alex were after last night,” he says. He leans against the doorway. “You got a bit rowdy after the third pint, didn’t you? And Alex, bless him, was out for the count after his first sip of beer.”

George fights the urge to foolishly smile up at him as if he hung the moon. “I’m okay,” he replies, mellow and child-like. “Alex is in bed.”

“Expected nothing less of the boy,” Will’s saying. “Can I come in?”

“Yeah,” George breathes, watching Will walk past him into the lounge, ducking under the low height of the doorway. He hears him pottering about in the kitchen, clattering draws and pans like they’ve known each other forever. 

“Do you have those rooibos teabags James has?” Will yells at him from the other room. “They were well nice last time.”

George pads forward towards the kitchen, carpet too thick like he’s wading through mud. “I think…” he gestures at one of the kitchen drawers. “I think there’s some in there.” Will’s too tall and domestic in his space like this, and it almost hurts as Will finally locates the teabags and triumphantly waves them in George’s direction.

“You want a cuppa?” Will asks, then leaning against the kitchen doorway with an extra teabag in his hand. He looks like an idiot, but George is selfishly endeared.

“I…I don’t drink rooibos,” George says. “Think Alex bought them.” Will nods in understanding, turning back to the kettle while he waits for it to boil.

“Alex was flirting with James last night, you know?” Will says as the kettle boils. “Sat in his lap and all.”

“I saw.” George decides to leave it at that, thinking it better to disclose as little information as he can about the situation when he barely even knows Will.

“They’re gonna shag. I can tell,” Will says grimly, prodding the teabag with a spoon.

George stutters. “You think?”

“Yeah,” Will nods, eyes bright. He takes his tea out of the kitchen, and George follows like a stupid little blind mouse, oblivious in his own home. There are two chairs out on the balcony - shitty plastic chairs Alex got for three quid at a car boot sale. George remembers sitting out there with Alex the night he bought them, chatting about everything to nothing, beers cold in their hands. They were new to the area at the time and knew nothing.

But Will’s there now, grinning at him all carefree against the cityscape before he’s sitting down, sunglasses falling over his eyes. He brings the cup to his lips, kicking up his legs onto the railing as George watches in awe. “Pretty nice out here, aye?”

George hums in agreeing reply. “I sit here and think a lot,” he says wistfully, watching the taxis slow to a halt near the bus stop on the ground.

Will looks at him with interest. “You do a lot of thinking.”

“I guess,” George shrugs, tapping the metal of the railing absently. He feels exposed like Will is peering into the little cracks of his insecurities, prying him open, even though he knows Will would never stoop that low.

“Fraser tells me you’re at uni.” The wind rushes over them, mussing George’s hair and the sleeves of Will’s hoodie. “What are you studying?”

“Art and graphic design,” George says, wind catching his loose sleeves. He squints into the half-obscured sun, morning glow catching the tops of his arms. He notices stubborn streaks of blue paint down the sides of his fingers, and he scratches inattentively at the remnants.

“That explains it,” Will says. “So, you’re pretty creative, then?”

George laughs dryly at this, leaning back in his chair. “When I haven’t got art professors in my inbox all the time, asking where my coursework is.”

Will smiles at him like it’s just them in an expanse of nothingness. “I’d like to see some of your art someday.”

The pit of George’s stomach suddenly feels empty and cavernous. “Yeah,” he says, throat tight. “Maybe.” 

“I bet it’s amazing,” Will compliments in a soft voice, like if he spoke any louder George would break. Will reaches out and pats his shoulder, crooked smile unbelievably endearing. 

“Are you at uni too?” George asks tentatively. 

“Finished last year,” Will says, taking a languid sip of tea. “Engineering. Complete waste of four years, but at least my résumé has something decent on it, you know?” He grins at George, eyes crinkled and cheerful.

“It sounds good,” George says meekly. “So, what are you doing now?”

“Eh, just Youtube stuff,” Will shrugs. “Pays the bills, doesn’t it?” 

And, o _h._ It should have been evident from the very start. Will’s everything Youtube wants and needs - funny, cheerful, kind, creative. George thinks himself stupid for not realising earlier. 

“Don’t tell me you’re not subscribed, fella,” Will adds cheekily.

George swallows. “I…I don’t really go on Youtube much.” He laughs as if to break the painful tension. “It’s hard when all of your mates make their living from the place, but I manage.”

“And you’ve never thought about having your own channel?” Will questions. The wind picks up, rattling the candle on the table and blowing their hair over their faces.

“I used to say that I’d never make one,” George admits slowly, heart thudding too deep in his chest and voice too loud against the distant traffic noise. “I wanted to be different from the others. But recently it’s grown on me.”

“Really?” Will says, a grin spreading across his face. “Well, you better let me know when you’ve got one, because I want you on my channel first, mate.”

George smiles back at him like they can do anything, face blushing pink. “Yeah?”

Will nods at him, eyes soft and warm like honey. “I’ll make sure it happens.”

*

They go out again that night - Fraser, Will, Mia, Alex, James, George. There’s a nightclub James had recommended; he’d said it had good music and flashing lights. Mia brings her friend, who’s beautiful and tan, with glossy dark hair in a sleek ponytail. Alex keeps nudging him every five minutes to go and speak to her, but it seems pointless as she’s curling a lock of hair around a manicured finger while she talks with Fraser. They’re both laughing, and George knows there’s no point trying when she's already talking to his mate.

“So what if she’s talking to Fraser?” Alex says, leaning against the bar with his drink. “She can talk to more than one person at a time.”

“Mhm,” George says, “But more importantly, I haven't seen you talk to James since the night began.”

Alex looks terrified like George has exposed him in front of the entire club. “What do you mean?”

George shakes his head. “Alex, I…I know you like him.”

Alex visibly reels back, eyes wide as saucers. “I never told you that.” 

“A few months ago…You were drunk,” George says. “It’s okay.”

Alex seems to deem this acceptable because he doesn’t reply and just nods into his beer, swirling it around like he’s trying to hypnotise himself.

“Talk to him though,” George adds with finality. “Think he fancies you too. I’ve seen how he looks in your direction.”

Alex gives him a final hopeful nod before he’s taking his beer and walking over to where James is leaning against the bar, taste-testing the beers. He grins as he notices Alex, slips a hand around his waist like it’s easy. Alex’s cheeks turn a ruddy shade of pink, and George rolls his eyes endearingly and focuses back on the dance floor. Fraser’s dancing with Mia’s friend now, both pressed close to each other and moving to the music. He looks happy, a soppy smile planted on his face as she looks adoringly up at him. George finishes his beer. He guesses he’s happy for them too.

Will’s suddenly at the centre of his vision, haloed by strobe lights on the dance-floor. He’s too tall and too handsome, as Mia shakes her dark hair over her shoulders and reaches up to lovingly wrap her arms around his neck. Mia is beautiful and ever so lucky. They dance together as some heavy music plays in the background, everyone else forgotten. George guesses that Will’s forgotten about him too.

So George buys a couple more beers, declares himself a lone drinker to whoever asks, and falls deeper into a haze. During some point in the night, a tall bearded man with a nice smile approaches him and buys him another drink. George thanks him graciously before not even ten minutes later, he’s leaving the bathroom with a woozy smile and an embellishment of hickeys adorned from his jaw to his collarbones. 

He finds Alex and James by the bar where he’d left them, but the smaller of the two is considerably more inebriated, pink hoodie slipping half off one of his shoulders as he leans against the bar.

“There you are,” James says triumphantly as George stumbles towards them, hazily smiling. “I’m just about to take Alex back.”

George’s head pulses, lights around the nightclub blurring into one. “Can…do you think you can take me back too, please?”

“Are you alright-” James starts, but then his eyes dart to the massacre that’s taken place on George’s milky skin. “Holy shit.” 

Alex lets out a slurred laugh. “Woah, George, that’s a _lot_ of hickeys,” he says, stumbling and attempting to lean against the bar. James grips onto his shoulder to steady him.

“What kind of psycho girl gave you that?” James then asks incredulously, pressing a thumb to his neck. The hickey burns under his touch and George flinches away, vision distorting in his intoxication.

“Dunno,” George slurs with a watery smile. “Doesn’t matter now. S’not like I’ll ever see him again.”

James pauses, looking towards Alex for help, but realises imminently that Alex is too drunk to form opinions on anything. But he turns back to George. “ _Him_?” he asks gently.

George shrugs. “Forget it,” he says, stumbling over his words like an alcoholic. “Let’s go.”

James makes a gesture to the other four that they’re leaving. Still, Will seemingly isn’t satisfied because he’s breaking away from Mia like he’s jumping out of a trance and racing towards them.

“What’s going on?” Will asks when he reaches them, hair mussed from dancing and eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“I’m taking the lightweight babies back to the apartment,” James says, gesturing towards the door. “I’ll be back in like fifteen.” 

“I’ll have you know that I…I am _not_ a lightweight,” Alex announces, poking an unsteady finger into James’ chest.

Will then catches sight of George’s neck and almost does a double-take. “Jesus, who gave that to you, George?” 

George turns to Will, craning his neck to even look at him comfortably. At his remark, his hand reaches up to his neck, regretting it when the hickeys sting against his fingers. “I’m not sure,” he says, head feeling like the inside of a blender. 

“We should go,” James says, nodding at Will. “I’ll be back in a bit, yeah?”

Will nods in understanding, but lurks in the hallway of the exit as they leave, drink half empty in his hand and eyebrows furrowed in concern. The picture burns in George’s brain for the rest of the night. 

*

The noise of the late-night city draws George back into reality, mind sloshing in intoxication. He feels incomplete like somebody’s used half of him and forgotten to finish. James drags them through the streets, tall, strapping and intimidating. George can feel the cool air on the tips of his fingers and the exposed part of his neck where the man from earlier had marked him up, proprietary and aggressive. 

“You two are fucking, aren’t you?” George blurts out with a giggle, after a silence accompanied by the late-night traffic. “Right?”

James, wide-eyed, keeps walking. “What are you on about?” His protective grip on Alex’s arm slackens vaguely.

Alex bursts into frenzied giggles but says nothing.

“You,” George points to James. “And Alex.” He gestures towards the smaller boy. 

James sighs, jaw clenched. “That’s…that’s not true.”

George falls silent in drunken defeat as they turn down the road leading to their apartment.

*

George is startled awake by Will’s laugh from the other room, loud and too cheerful for five past ten in the morning. His eyes burn from the sun shining through the curtains, and his head aches, sharp remnants of vodka lingering in his mouth.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he groans, sitting up in bed and rubbing his hands over his face. 

Alex and Will are both chatting in the kitchen when he pads in, Alex sitting up on the countertop and Will standing by the kettle. “Hey,” George says softly, causing them to both spin around to face him.

“Morning, Georgie,” Will says brightly, holding out a mug of tea. “Made you a cup.” George blushes red at the nickname, but takes the cup from him anyway, not meeting his eye. Will looks good as always, hair damp and sporting distressed black skinny jeans. His eyes still linger on the hickeys on George’s neck, but he says nothing.

“Thank you.”

Alex looks terrible, flaunting red-rimmed eyes and messy hair. He’s still wearing pink, though. “What’s on your neck, George?” He asks gently, concern laced in his voice, different from how he reacted last night when he was intoxicated.

George just shrugs, not really knowing what to say. “A mistake.” He slides onto a bar stool silently, allowing Will and Alex to continue their conversation. He slips paracetamol into his mouth and drinks his tea into oblivion.

“Did they not like the designs?” Alex asks Will, hopping down from the countertop and filling up a glass with cold water. “Because for mine, they were pretty flexible, mate.”

“I have no clue,” Will says, shrugging. “I’m not really too happy with how they came out. I might just ask Brendan if he can draw something else.” 

“You know he’s shit,” Alex says, raising his eyebrows. “Get somebody better to draw them out for you.” He takes a languid sip of the water like he’s been deprived of it for weeks.

“Hm,” Will says, and then they’re both looking at George, interested smiles stretching across their faces.

George frowns, looking up at them in confusion. “What?”

“You do art at uni,” Will points out.

“What about it?”

Alex comes and sits next to him. “We need your artistic expertise on Will’s merch.”

“Oh,” George says in reply. “I won’t be much help.”

They both protest aggressively, telling him to stop being negative and to love himself more. George fights the urge to stand up and leave, hand curling around his half-empty mug of tea.

“Cmon, Georgie,” Will says, all soft and gentle. “It’ll take your mind off university.”

Alex is looking at him eager and earnest, clearly wanting George to accept, so he doesn’t have to keep moaning at him to get out of the house and do something.

There’s a pause. 

“Okay,” George says. He hopes he won’t regret this.

*

They both go to Will’s flat straight away to get started on the designs. A petite woman opens the door, all smiles and nice eyes. George guesses this must be his roommate that he talks about sometimes.

“This is my flatmate, Gee,” Will says confidently. “And Gee, this is my new mate, George.”

She’s pretty, blue hair pulled up into a ponytail. “It’s so nice to meet you, George,” she says, shaking his hand. “I’ve heard _plenty_ about you, believe it or not.” 

Will jokily shoves her in the arm, before directing his next statement to George. “Ignore her,” he says, rolling his eyes with a grin.

George finds himself foolishly grinning at their sibling-like dynamic before Gee’s stepping aside to let them into the flat. It’s bigger than Alex and George’s by a lot, and the kitchen has an expensive sheen that theirs doesn’t have. “Your flat is lovely,” George comments in awe, suddenly noticing the two gold and silver play buttons framed on the wall above the lounge. George guesses that Will must be pretty popular online.

“Thank you,” Will says with a warm grin, directing them to the table by the kitchen. “Feel free to sit, fella.”

George obliges and sits in one of the seats. “Uh,” he starts nervously. “I brought loads of supplies because I don’t know what you specifically wanted.”

Will sits opposite him excitedly, and rifles through all the art material George brought with him. “This is great,” he says with a grin. “You’re great.”

George blushes at this, taking out a sketchpad and placing it on the table. “I’ll do some rough sketches.”

“Okay,” Will says, nodding in understanding. “Do you want me to show you the original design?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer and hurries into another room to grab some of the printed merch. Gee’s sitting on the sofa with a laptop and a mug of coffee, grinning. 

“It’s nice to see him excited over something,” she says joyfully, taking an unhurried sip of her drink. “He used to struggle with motivation a lot.”

George nods agreeably. “I’m glad I’m…you know, helping the channel,” he says, just as Will returns with a couple of hoodies, one black, one heather-grey and the last one white.

“Okay,” Will says, slightly out of breath as he lays them out over the table. “I’m not completely happy with these designs, but I’m hoping you can work some magic and make them beautiful.”

“Hm,” George says, inspecting the material of the artwork. “I think it would look loads nicer if the words were a little skewed, and in a more visually stimulating colour.”

Will smiles up at him. “You really are wonderful. You’re helping me tons, you know that, right?”

George fights a foolish smile, instead looking down at his sketchpad. “It’s nothing.” He begins to sketch some basic ideas, pencil feather-light on the crisp paper and teeth catching on his bottom lip. Will comes around the table to watch him at work, mouth slightly agape.

“Jesus, George,” Will says good-naturedly, hand patting his shoulder. “I can’t believe you don’t flaunt your talent wherever you go.”

“You’re gonna make the poor lad big-headed,” Gee calls from the sofa with an eye-roll. 

“Leave us alone,” Will laughs, flipping her off, before turning to George. “Ignore the old woman.”

George slides the sketchpad towards Will after ten or so minutes of drawing. “What do you think of this?” 

He only looks at it for a second before a grin is spreading across his face, and his eyes are crinkling like they did when they first met. “George, this is fucking ace,” he says, and then he’s putting the sketchbook down, gripping the sides of George’s face and pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Thank you, mate.” 

George is in a haze as Will races off into the other room to send pictures of the design to the merch company. The kiss burns into his skin like a tattoo, and he absently reaches up to feel where it was before realising Gee’s watching him with a fond smile.

“You’ve got a thing for him, haven’t you?” Gee says, coffee abandoned. 

George freezes, heart sinking to the pit of his stomach and hand falling from the side of his face in humiliation. “No, I…” He says. “No.”

She laughs, but it’s not spiteful. “It’s okay. I won’t tell him.”

George thinks about it, toys with the bent corner of the sketchbook, looks up at her. “I don’t really know how I feel.”

“Him and Mia are rocky,” she says after a few seconds, finishing her coffee and placing the empty cup on the table. “It won’t last.”

“What do you mean?”

Gee gestures for him to sit down on the sofa with her, so he does. Once he’s settled, she sighs. “They’re both confident and loud, but it’s really not a good combination for a couple.” She fiddles with a button on her blouse. “They’re like two north pole magnets. You’d think they’d attract, but they don’t.”

George nods, silence taking over them.

*

It only takes a few months. George is painting in his study when he hears someone come through the front door downstairs. He thinks it could be Will, but he usually greets them loudly the second he gets in the door, and George hadn’t heard anything.

So he pads downstairs curiously, wondering if it’s Fraser. But he’s surprised to see Will, solemn and hanging up his coat. Will turns to face him, face breaking into a grin like everything is okay.

“Georgie?” Will says, nickname now too familiar on his tongue. George can’t help but blush whenever Will calls him it. “You alright?” 

George nods. “It’s just me,” he says, leaning against the wall. “Alex went out with James.”

“You think they’re shaggin’?” Will laughs. 

“Probably.”

George makes him a cup of rooibos how he likes it - milk, sugarless. They take it up to the roof of the building, where they’re not supposed to go, but it has the nicest view of the Thames and the sunset. It’s cold outside, bitterly, bitingly cold. The wind blows them about like rag-dolls and messes up their hair. The sunset’s golden orange, tinting their skin like a tan, and George laughs as they wander towards the edge, feeling suddenly free.

“You been painting?” Will asks him when they lean up against the edge. He touches gently at the paint, smeared against the back of George’s hand. His mind jitters at the slight contact.

George nods. “Yeah,” he says, scratching at the paint. “I’m behind on something for uni. Had to do it quickly.”

Will hums in response, leaning out over the city. “Always said you have the best view,” he says, soft and gentle. He turns back to George to gauge his reaction. “Kinda jealous if I’m honest, mate.”

“Shut up,” George says. “Your flat is huge and gorgeous because you’re fabulously rich.”

Will shoves him in the arm. “Not rich, you cheeky bugger.” He takes a sip of his tea, shaking his head in mock disappointment. He’s got an unhappy twinge to his eyes that George hasn’t noticed before, and the fact that he isn’t as cheerful as usual makes his heart twinge.

“Will?” George tries softly, feeling small and insignificant next to him.

Will turns to him, sunset reflecting on his face. His hair’s damp from the shower, and his skin is radiant. “Yeah?”

“Tell me what’s wrong.”

Will’s eyebrow quirks in confusion for a few seconds. “Nothing’s wrong, love.” George feels pathetic at the way his heart pangs at the nickname like it was invented just to come from Will’s lips.

“Are you sure?” He asks tentatively, afraid of badgering Will. He lays a cautious hand on Will’s arm.

“Yeah,” Will says, quieter, which isn’t like him at all. “It’s just that I went round Mia’s today, and we’ve… we’ve decided to stop seeing each other.”

“Oh,” George breathes mildly before he’s wrapping his arms around Will and pulling him into a tight hug. “Sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Will says after they break apart. “It ended in relatively good spirits, and there was no bad blood, I’m just bummed that it’s over.”

“It’s okay,” George says timidly. “We should go and hang out to cheer you up.”

Will finishes his tea and pours the dregs into the drain, a wistful smile drifting over him. “Okay,” he says. “Sure.”

*

Running through a surprise rainstorm in the middle of Central London wasn’t what George had planned for ‘cheering Will up’. He’d expected an evening walk along the Thames, but it’s pouring like the skies have been holding it in for months, and every heavy drop against the tarmac sounds like a choral addition to their running footsteps.

“We should’ve taken the tube,” George calls over the noise of the rain. Will just grins at him from underneath his hood, a secret smile that feels like his own. It’s like it belongs to him. George smiles back, trapped in momentary oblivion, before Will’s taking his hand and they’re running faster through the streets like the rain would soak through their skin. He barely gets the chance to think about how Will’s hand feels firm and warm against his own.

Will’s too lovely like this, adorned in a black jacket and jeans. George stops on the pavement to admire him for a few seconds as he weaves through the crowds of people heading to God knows where. Will’s made for the city, or the city’s made for him. Each icy gust curls around him like he’s familiar and doesn’t touch him. George feels like he’s running after an enigma, or chasing something he doesn't deserve to reach.

He runs to catch up with him, who gives him a warm, manuka-honey smile. “Where’d you go?” Will asks as they walk, face soft and open.

“Caught behind a crowd,” George says over the hum of mindless chatter that passes them. He resists the desperate need to lace their fingers together absently, waves the urge away. He’s embarrassed.

Will stops them in the middle of the pavement once the crowd clears slightly. “You’ve got to stop looking at me like that.”

The rain hits them with no regard, splashing onto the pavement and rolling down their coats. It’s sudden, and George looks up at him with questioning eyes. “What?”

“You’re bloody great, George,” he says, exhaling. “I think you’re sound.” There’s something in Will’s gaze that he finds himself pathetically smiling at, and the world creaks to a halt for a mind-numbing millisecond.

George doesn’t say anything for a few seconds that stretch out in his mind, as people mill around them, other-dimensional beings with other life-goals. “Well, I think you’re sound too,” he says after a few seconds, voice too high.

Will’s lips quirk into something enigmatic, before he’s turning back in the direction of the crowd like it never happened, hair damp against his forehead from the rain. “That’s good then, isn’t it?”

“Suppose it is.” They're both smiling.

*

“ _You_ look happy,” is all Alex sing-songs from the lounge when Will and George open the front door, laughing to themselves. George looks up from the coat rack, grin still prominent as he notices James on the sofa next to him, Alex’s legs resting on top of his.

“No,” George decides. “ _You_ look happy.” He nods at Alex and James’ hands lovingly laced together. “Did you two have a nice date, then?”

Alex blushes furiously. “It was pretty nice, yeah,” he says, and James gives him a soft smile. “You two seem to be in good spirits too. Did _you_ go on a date?”

“Candlelit dinner,” Will jokes from his side. 

“No, we didn’t!” George argues, face burning redder and redder by the second. “We just hung out.”

They aren’t convinced. “Whatever would Mia say about this?” James says, pulling Alex into his side, big hand almost spanning the entirety of his hip.

George almost holds his breath.

“Ah, well, Mia and I broke up today,” Will says matter-of-factly. “George cheered me up.”

Alex’s eyes turn soft and sympathetic. “Oh, Will. Are you alright?”

Will nods. “Yeah, I’m doing okay.” He smiles small at George - the secret smile - as if they know something everyone else doesn’t. It burns in his brain longer than it should, and it’s the only thing George can think about for hours afterwards when he’s lying in bed and staring at the ceiling.

*

“What colour am I?” Will asks, turning around from one of George’s finished paintings, propped up against a chest of drawers. “If you had to give me one.” 

George turns around from the easel, paintbrush loose between his fingers. Will’s looking at him, smile crinkling across his face endearingly. “I’d say orange,” George decides after a few seconds, dips his brush back into a blue and turns back to his work, smile lulling across his lips.

Will doesn’t say anything for a few seconds. “Why orange?” He finally says. “Is it ‘cause I’m loud and annoying?”

George laughs. “No,” he says quietly, flicking the edge of his brush up to smooth out an uneven edge. “It’s ‘cause you’re bright and sunny, Will.”

Will’s suddenly in his space, tall and imposing. “Eh?” He says, leaning against the wall beside him. “That’s not what people normally tell me.”

George blinks up at him through blue eyes, earnest and soft. “What do they normally say?”

Will blows out a laugh, thinks about it. “Usually they tell me to piss off.”

*

The winter evening air curls around him as he stands solitary in the gap between the woods and the park. It bites him and pinches at his fingertips, insistent, merciless. It feels like everything George has been trying to fight since he came to terms with himself. He picks his phone out of his pocket with unsteady, cold fingers, presses the button to accept Will’s call.

“Yeah?” He breathes, wind blowing his hair as he turns towards the sun. 

“You won’t fucking believe it, George,” Will says tinnily through the phone, and George racks his brains for a few seconds, heart racing a mile a minute, but nothing springs to mind.

“What’s happened?”

“You know that design you drew for my merch the other month?” 

George knows the one. He swallows as he remembers Will kissing his forehead, both hands gripping the sides of his face. Will’d then gone off into the other room, but George could still feel the kiss days later. “Yeah, I remember.”

“It’s about to sell out, and I want you to be there when it does, mate.” Will’s laughing now, the laugh he does when he can’t quite believe something’s happened. George fights back a smile, even though Will can’t see him.

“No way,” George says almost breathlessly, hand gripping against the railing over the bridge. “That quickly?”

Will laughs again, excitedly. “Yes - where are you?”

George turns around, facing into the sunset, so it shines into his eyes and burns against his skin. “I’m just on a walk.”

“Come to James and Fraser’s,” Will replies. “Hurry up.”

James, Fraser, Alex and a group of people he doesn’t know are all crowded around Will’s laptop by the time George has put his shoes neatly underneath the coat rack and taken off his coat.

“Look, mate,” Alex beckons him over. “He’s twenty-two sales from selling out.” And it’s true - there's a little timer in the corner counting how long the merch has been running for, and a little box showing every sale as it comes in. Will’s name is written across the merch, and the little doodle he’d done embroiders the arm. George feels a twinge of satisfaction spread across his face in the form of a grin. Sure, George had drawn the design, but Will had put the hours in to make it all happen. And it had worked; the merch was beautiful.

Just as George is beginning to wonder where the man of the hour is, Will comes tumbling out of the kitchen armed with two six-packs of lager, grin perfect on his features. He’s in all black, locks of hair falling out of his beanie beautifully. 

Will grins at him. “Where were you, George? I was missin’ you.”

“Just on a walk,” George says back, struggling to hide his smile. He can’t help it - it’s just the way that Will looks at him, that makes him feel giddy and stupid. It’s pathetic, really. 

Alex seems surprised at George’s good mood, pats him on the arm kindly before turning back to the laptop screen. He seems in good spirits, lacing fingers with James as they all crowd around the screen. George will admit he’s happy for him, glad Alex can focus on something he’s invested in, instead of him. 

The merch sells out ten minutes later, and Will seems in disbelief as everyone whoops, pats him on the back and ruffles his hair. He’s grinning, and George catches his eye. They share the grin that they’ve become oh so familiar with. The grin where Will’s saying ‘hey’ with his eyes, and George somehow understands its meaning.

*

They take the tube, and all go out for a celebratory meal in the city, dark and bustling as they swarm about. He and Will walk at the back of the group and find their feet among the many around them. He’s happy, grinning like a child as they cross the road. And when Will grins down at him, it’s like they’re solitary beings.

James and Alex hold hands in front of them, soft and loving. George doesn’t know how to feel, because, maybe he wants what they have. Jealousy burns through his veins like toxic liquid, acid perhaps. But Will just nudges him like it’s a joke, gestures over at their hands laced together, grins at him. He makes a face like he’s pretending to vomit. “Knew they’d be shagging,” he says when Alex and James are out of earshot, when they’ve joined up with Fraser and some of the other people George isn’t familiar with. “Wasn’t hard to guess."

“James is straight though,” George says, although he’s fully aware it’s not true. “Isn’t he?” 

It’s true that James indeed puts up a heterosexual front. He’s tall, taller than all of them, strapping, and his voice is low and gravelly. He makes jokes about girls and boobs with Fraser, while Alex sulks on the sofa with his pink hat askew across his overgrown fringe. But then James remembers that he’s sort of in a relationship with Alex and slips a hand around his waist until the other boy is grinning again. He’s hopeless.

“He says he is,” Will replies. “You never know, though, do you?” And he connects his gaze with George, the street lights casting colours over his face, and it reminds him of fireworks.

*

Will sits at the end of the table, proud and grinning as he pours them all a glass of wine. He’s wearing a red jacket, which is a splash of colour for him, and a black beanie which sits nicely over his dark hair. George decides he looks good when he’s happy like this.

Mia’s there too, with her friend who George now knows as Esme. They’re happy enough, chatting with Fraser about something hilarious. It should be weird that Mia’s there as an ex-girlfriend, but it’s not. Will grins at her like they’re mates, and they exchange pleasant conversation as if they never dated. George takes a swig of beer and stares into it again.

His phone vibrates in his front pocket, and he discreetly takes it out, as not to appear unsociable to everyone else around the table. A message from Alex pops up, and he opens it in confusion. Alex is right across the table from him.

‘ _Didn’t think you actually liked him, but you do don't ya??’_ It reads, and George’s head shoots up to meet with Alex’s gaze. He’s got his eyebrows raised, and he nods at the phone in George’s hand.

He types, ‘ _What are you talking about mate?’ a_ nd sends it before he can give it any more thought.

_‘You’ve been staring at Will the entire time’._ And then the sounds of the restaurant suddenly fade out, until all George can hear is the ringing in his ears and his breathing becoming laboured, shaky. 

“Does anyone want another drink?” Alex says, muffled, after a few seconds, standing up and gesturing to where the bar is. He’s noticed, and it almost makes George want to leave. “It’s on me.”

Everyone but Will murmurs in agreement, and Alex gestures for George to follow him. George stumbles up from his chair, almost knocking it over in his haste to follow Alex. Everything swirls in underwater oblivion, like he’s in an aquarium being watched, observed.

“Hey, no,” Will says before they’ve left, putting his drink down and turning around to face them. “I said this was my treat.” A frown settles between his brows, and he looks up at George, eyes hazel green, honest. George struggles to look away.

“Just this round, yeah?” Alex argues, and Will must’ve regarded this adequate because then Alex is dragging him off to the bar. 

“Don’t lie to me, George," Alex says once they’re leaning up against the bar. “Was I right?”

George closes his eyes, rubs fingers against both temples. “I don’t know, Alex.”

Alex calls over the bartender and orders a round. He asks for it to be put on a tab, and turns back to George. “Do you-” 

“I’m…I’m not gay,” George says, placing his hands flat up against the bar. “I don't think I have a sexuality.”

Alex laughs at this. “You know, that’s exactly what James says after he screws me.”

“Didn’t need to know that,” George says uncomfortably, tapping fingers against the bar impatiently.

Alex shoves him good-naturedly. “But, do you want me to find out if Will likes you back?”

George rolls his eyes and takes the tray of drinks from the bartender. “We’re not fourteen, Al.”

“I know,” Alex says gently. “But it would take some weight off your conscience. And I want you to be happy, George.”

“Well, I want you to be happy too,” George says back. “And this _isn’t_ just about me. You need to tell James that he needs to commit to you, and to stop pretending he’s straight in front of everyone else.”

*

“I didn’t know you smoked,” George says quietly, padding onto Will’s balcony. He’s leaning out over the city, cigarette half-burned between his fingers.

Will jumps, pulls it from his lips. “Oh, hi,” he says, turning away from the breeze. “Gee let you in?”

George nods, leaning up against the balcony next to the taller boy. He nods at the ashtray, looks back up at Will. “They’re bad for you.”

Will laughs, adjusts his hat over his hair and turns to face him. “They’re Mia’s. She left them behind. I don’t…” he says like it’s difficult. “I don’t usually smoke. Just feeling pretty stressed, that’s all.” 

George hums in reply, lets the wind muss his hair and lift up the hairs on his arms. Will’s got no chairs on his balcony, so they end up just standing. The air smacks into them carelessly, like it’s got somewhere to be. Again, George feels like they’re solitary, but he always feels this way with Will.

“You wanna try?” Will asks, cigarette between his index and middle finger. He holds it out, delicate ashes falling from the end. His pink lips quirk up in question, eyes crinkling endearingly.

“I’ll probably die,” George says. He takes hold of the cigarette, Will’s fingers brushing against his own. “But okay.” 

Will grins, leaning back against the glass balcony railing, hair ruffled and sleep-mussed. “Didn’t think you’d actually do it,” he says as George’s lips curl around the cigarette, taking a hasty drag. He coughs at the smoke as it clouds into his lungs. Eyes watering, he blinks up at Will.

“You’ve not smoked before?” Will questions softly, taking the cigarette back. 

George just shakes his head and turns back to the railing. “Why are you stressed?” he says quietly, scratching at his fingers which always seem to be covered in paint. “You said that you were.” 

Will nods and messes his hair up with his hand before shoving his hat back on. “Oh, I’m just behind on a bunch of…” he trails off like it’s meaningless, wrist falling limp onto the bar at the top of the railing. “Stuff.” 

George hates it when Will’s meek and quiet, because it’s not him. Will’s loud and exuberant; he talks excitedly when he’s happy about something, he went with George to the park, so he doesn’t have to be alone. He’s tall, not taller than James and Fraser, but a good six foot one that means he still towers awkwardly over George and Alex’s heads. He ruffles Alex’s hair just so the younger boy’s eyebrows furrow stroppily and his lip juts out. Will compliments James and Fraser on their blossoming YouTube channels and gives them non-condescending advice on viewer growth.

So it’s hard to comprehend, George thinks, that it’s barely been three months since he walked into the living room and shook the hand Will confidently held out as if he’d done this before. Three months since they went to the abandoned park and ran back onto the pavement before anybody could catch them.

And it’s weird that he’s watching Will smoke on his balcony when he finally comes to the conclusion, with a shaking exhale that takes everything out of him, that George is probably, hopefully, most definitely in love with him. Pitifully enraptured by the exuberant Geordie who broke a swing-set with him the morning after they met, and clattered around making tea in his kitchen as if they'd been mates for years. And just then, the traffic noises from far below, suddenly, in a crescendo of nothingness, seem like alternate galaxies of other people and other adventures, who don’t know or care about him. And why would they? 

“What kind of stuff?” He tries weakly, painfully meeting his eyes as smoke from Will’s fag billows back into his face.

The cigarette’s a tiny stub between his fingers, so Will twists it into the ashtray. Rubbing a hand over his face, Will is almost a complete stranger without his award-winning smile. “Alex came over yesterday.”

George looks up, squinting in the bright daylight to meet Will’s eyes. He barely knows what to say, and it frightens him. “Yeah?” 

“He sat me down, said he wanted to rant to me about James,” Will says, sliding down the glass until he’s sitting, knees to chest, on the balcony floor. George slides down next to him, so they’re side by side, arms pressed together. “But all he said really, was that he was in love with him.”

George nods, all understanding and nice. He lays a hand on Will’s arm and rests it there as if to comfort him.

“But then,” Will laughs, but he’s not smiling. “Then he asked me if _I’ve_ ever been in love with one of my friends. And I nearly laughed, because…what a question, right?” He fiddles with the strings on his hoodie, from nerves or boredom or frustration. George isn't sure. “But then I realised that I had. He’d hit the nail on the head because I’ve had crushes on friends before, but none of them had made me question myself as much as this one person did.”

George looks at him, hope shining in his eyes.

“Mia,” Will tests out the word, and George’s heart plummets because he’s completely and absolutely _fucked_ now. “It was Mia. And I guess I love her.” Will looks at him right in the eyes. And every conclusion George had ever made on Will _had to be_ wrong now. Because he couldn’t possibly like him. Why would he? Mia was perfect, and everything Will had wanted. _And George was just George._

*

“You mind if we stop for a bit?” George questions, too out of breath for his own good. Fraser nods like it’s nothing and settles beside him on the bridge. It’s icy and bitter, and people walk past in a blur of hats and mittens over cold fingers, a chorus of weather complaints behind thick scarves draped over shoulders. The Thames is almost iced over, glimmering like something out of a fantasy novel, and George exhales with finality. 

“Are you okay?” Fraser says in a quiet, timid voice. He lays a hand on George’s shoulder, warm and grounding. 

George nods, swallowing a lump in his throat. “Think so,” he says, voice too strangled in his throat, as if there's a phantom hand wrapped around his neck, choking him to death slowly.

Fraser pauses, seems to mull over his words before he decides on them. “I don’t want to…force you to open up to me. But I want you to know that you can always talk to me, even if you only want me to listen, mate.”

George nods, flicks some ice off the edge of the bridge. He watches it splash into the water below, and it’s pathetically poignant in such a way that George feels like crying. “Thank you, Fraser.”

“S’alright,” The taller lad says in response and pats his shoulder. 

They go silent for a while, staring bleakly at the horizon where the river curves. There’s the noise of the buses, the taxis, the cars. There's the unanimous hum of the Londoners; babies, children, adults. 

“He doesn’t like me,” George then states like he’s passing the cornflakes, and it feels like everything’s built up to this moment where he spills his heart in the middle of London to his friend. It feels like he should be crying on Fraser’s shoulder, but he’s too jaded to feel any emotions. George feels absolutely nothing apart from a gaping hole in the pit of his stomach.

“Who?” Fraser asks after a few seconds, turning to look George in the eye.

George closes his eyes, can’t bring himself to look Fraser in the eyes when he says it. “Will.”

Fraser doesn’t say anything for a long time. “…I didn’t realise.”

“Neither did I, mate,” George breathes. 

So Fraser pulls him into a tight hug, arms wrapping around his sagging shoulders. “But Jesus Christ, George,” he says. “You’re so fucking stupid sometimes.”

“What?” George says, eyes widening in alarm as they break apart from the hug. 

The wind picks up, and Fraser pulls his jacket hood up over his windswept hair. “God, Will looks at you like you hung the moon and every star in the sky.”

George just stares at him. “You don’t know that. You don’t have to make me feel better.”

Fraser laughs at this. “You really think I, of all people, wouldn't know that after how many years I’ve known him?” He turns to look over the river again. “I first met Will when we were both scrawny little kids, and in all that time, I’ve never seen him look at someone the same way he does at you.”

George lets the wind hit his face, every thought plummeting into his brain at once, infiltrating every crevice of his mind. “He told me he loves Mia,” George says quietly.

“Can’t you see? He was talking about you, George,” Fraser says.

*

Two months crawl by, and George stays in his room for most of it. Christmas Day feels like a slap to the face. Alex drags him out of his pit, claiming it’s not healthy to be holed up on his own, and set him to work on checking the turkey every few hours and inviting the guests in. 

So it’s a painful shock when George opens his apartment door to Will and Mia, hands laced together and grins plastered on their faces. Nothing had ever hurt George’s heart more than that, just then.

“Merry Christmas,” George says automatically, a reflex action, sewing a smile onto his face and opening the door to them. Will grins towards George like it’s nothing and says it back as they walk past him into the kitchen. It’s stupid how George’s lip trembles and his heart jumps around in his chest because it’s still _him_.

He shuts the door and turns around to Fraser, leaning against the doorway, concern in his eyes. George jumps. 

“I told him to tell you he liked you,” Fraser says. “I didn’t tell him you liked him back. But you wouldn’t come out of your room for weeks at a time.”

George looks at the floor, adjusts the doormat with his foot. He says nothing.

“I think he gave up," Fraser adds. “He went to Mia’s house with flowers. I think he thought that was what he was meant to do.”

“Okay,” George says faintly, turning to head back into the lounge, but Fraser catches his arm.

“You can’t tell him,” Fraser says. “Not now he’s back with Mia. It’ll kill her. And him.”

*

George lays at the bottom of Alex’s bed while the latter edits a video. George doesn’t feel sad about Will anymore, just a little empty at the hole in his heart. The last time he’d seen him was Christmas Day, and he hadn’t come over since. Deep down, George knows it’s his fault. There were so many things he should have said to him that got caught in his throat before he’d had the chance to say them. And he should have said them before he got back together with Mia.

“You should come out tonight,” Alex says, drawing him from his haze, and turns to face him in his office chair. “To the New Years party at James and Fraser’s.”

George stiffens, blinks. _He can’t._ He can’t muster up the energy to drag himself to a party where he’ll be sad all night and witness Will being cheery and himself.

“I want you there,” Alex continues. “It would mean a lot to see my best mate there.” He looks at George so earnestly that it pains him to decline.

“I don’t really feel up to it,” he says, watching Alex’s face drop and his shoulders sag. “Sorry, Al.”

The younger sighs and turns back to his computer, saying nothing else. George knows it’s hard for Alex to deal with him when he’s like this, cold and closed up.

There’s a silence, and George knows Alex has something to say, and he’s working up the courage to spit it out.

“James said he won’t kiss me at midnight because he’s scared,” Alex blurts suddenly. “And that really hurts me, even though it’s not his fault.”

George looks up from where he’s absently smoothing the fabric of Alex’s duvet. “What?”

“He doesn’t want people to make fun of him for liking guys too,” Alex says, big eyes wide, blue, vulnerable. “And I know I’m just being stupid, but I can’t help but feel like he’s just embarrassed to be seen with me in public.” And George hasn’t seen Alex this close to tears in ages. He looks suddenly so small, legs tucked to his chin in his chair and arms wrapped around his body.

So George just hugs him and decides at that moment that missing the party is out of the question. 

*

James and Fraser’s apartment is brimming with people, sweaty and already tipsy. Half of them George has never met before, but as he weaves himself through the crowd, he finds himself high giving people and exchanging in painful small talk. 

“Oi!” Fraser yells from the other side of the room, and George has to push past several bodies to get even within speaking distance. The floor thumps like a heartbeat under his feet, and he can’t begin to imagine how badly the downstairs neighbours are sleeping tonight.

When he gets close, Fraser’s got raised eyebrows and a small smile on his lips. “I didn’t know you were coming, George!”

The slightest bit of warmth seeps into his chest. “I’m only here because Alex begged me to come,” he says defiantly, but a grin slips onto his face too.

“I’m proud of you,” Fraser says, slapping a hand on his shoulder. “Please just go get drunk, so we can do crazy shit like we used to. I’ve missed that side of you.”

George grins and then Fraser is gone as quickly as he arrived, weaving his way through the crowd, presumably to find Esme, Mia’s friend, who he’s been flirting with. ‘ _I’m proud of you’_ lingers in his mind, and he can’t keep the smile off his face, because _fucking finally_ he’s not a disappointment.

When George finally manages to push his way into the kitchen, it’s emptier than he thought, apart from James cracking open bottles of beer and Fraser’s little Shiba-Inu wagging his tail in the corner of the room. 

George realises this might be his best chance to get Alex a New Year’s kiss.

“Oh hi,” James says with a grin when he notices him, stature as tall as ever. “Me and Fraser thought you weren't coming.”

“Well, here I am,” George replies with a laugh. “Can I nick one of those?” He nods at one of the beers on the countertop.

“Of course you can, mate,” James says, handing him one with a grin. “You’re chipper tonight.”

George grins, taking a swig of beer. “Well, I realised I’ve got nothing to lose.”

“Well, whatever it is, it looks good on you,” James says. “I’m glad you’re happier.”

They clink their beers together, and George hasn’t felt this invigorated in months. His heart isn’t heavy in his chest like usual, and his limbs aren’t just hanging by his sides. The music bleeds through the closed door of the kitchen, muffled and smothered. He feels pretty good.

“Oi, you think you’ll get a New Year’s kiss tonight?” James questions interestedly, taking a swig of beer.

And then everything comes crashing back down. His high was never bound to last that long, because now he remembers that Will was bound to be here. Bound to be doing something invigorating and looking handsome with glimmering eyes and dark hair flopping in his face like an idiot. 

“Probably not,” George says. “Five foot eight boys don’t usually get New Year’s kisses.” He pointedly looks in James’ direction, who suddenly looks a little awkward.

“Some of them do,” James says.

“What about Alex?” George asks, and he realised then that he couldn't have made it any more obvious. This was his only chance.

“What are you trying to say, George?”

George leans over and slaps him on the shoulder. “Kiss him, yeah?” He asks. “It’s all he wants. You’ll make his night, and he’ll be all pink and giggly afterwards.”

James doesn’t say anything for a few seconds, suddenly appearing shorter than he was before, his body caving in on itself and his shoulders hunching over. “But I’m scared.”

“It’s okay,” George says. And he knows that for a fact because Alex is so shamelessly whipped that there’s no chance he could ever change his mind. “You don’t have to kiss him in front of everybody. Just take him aside, and nobody will notice you’ve gone.”

James says nothing, so George prays that he takes his advice on board, because he doesn’t think he can bear a new year where he and Alex are _both_ miserable and depressed in their bedrooms at the start of it.

George leaves the kitchen, the sound of the music hitting him like a brick wall, and the bass hammering beneath his feet. His good mood has subsided a little, but he guesses he feels like a good person after sharing his pearls of wisdom with James. 

He can’t see anybody he knows for a while until he tunes into the sound of a crowd of people entering the apartment at half eleven, whooping and yelling like hooligans. He turns around to see who they are, breaking away from a meaningless conversation. And then there’s _Will_ , and he’s, yet again, haloed in his vision, surrounded by other people, grinning as he shrugs off his coat and messes up his dark hair. And although it’s all pointless now, George’s heart still pangs in his chest when Will laughs at something over the sound of the music, clutching his stomach and doubling over. The remains of the adoration still burns in his gut, and God, if it doesn’t fucking hurt.

Everyone at the party knows and likes Will, and they grin and slap his shoulder as he greets them. They tell him something funny, and he does that loud laugh that makes his eyes crinkle like the leaves at the end of summer. George feels like a coward, too scared to even go and say hi to him. He doesn’t know what he would do if Will shunned him in the middle of the party.

Then Will’s handed a beer, and he’s lost in the crowd, and George sighs and collapses back against sofa cushions. He needs to stop being this high maintenance; it’s New Year’s Eve. He should be celebrating.

Alex flops down next to him, can of beer in his hand and hair flopping over his face. “Hi,” he says, eyes blue and sparkling. “You enjoying yourself?”

George nods, taking a swig of beer. “More than I thought I would, yeah.”

Alex grins and looks like an excited puppy. “I’m so glad,” He pats him on the shoulder. “You deserve to be happy.”

Smiling, George nods at him. “So do you. You’ve put up with too much of my shit this year.”

There’s something different about Alex’s features tonight. He seems more open, carefree. He’s wearing a new shirt, and he actually brushed his hair tonight. George thinks he might be happier, but there’s something in his eyes, blue irises darting to each side of the room tensely.

“You seen James yet? I can’t find him,” Alex questions casually, and there’s a slight panic in his eyes. _It’s 11:45._

“I’ve seen him, yeah,” George says. “Just don’t worry about it,” He pats Alex’s arm, desperate to console him in any way. 

“He told me how nervous he is for us to go public,” Alex says. “I just want to kiss him tonight, George.”

“You will,” George says. “He’s just scared, and you have to work through it with him.” 

He can see the desperation in Alex’s eyes, the fear as it nears midnight. 

“New Years is contrived bullshit anyway,” George adds. “It doesn’t mean anything.” He realises that he’s consoling himself rather than Alex because it’s 11:45 and he still hasn’t spoken to Will.

And then it’s almost like he can read his thoughts because gently, Alex touches his shoulder. “Have you spoken to him recently?” he asks, cautious in his wording.

George looks for Will in the crowd, drawing a blank, before turning back to Alex. He tastes the words, bitter on his tongue. “Not for a while, no.”

Alex looks frustrated. “C’mon, George - you’re being an idiot. You clearly both like each other but you’re too scared to admit it.”

“But he doesn’t! He wouldn’t ever like me,” George says. “He can get anybody he wants, and I’m just me.”

Alex huffs at him. “Go find him. You know that I’m right!”

*

Mia sits on the staircase alone in a red satin shirt and black high waisted jeans, swirling her glass of champagne with an empty look on her face. She looks up at George hovering in the doorway.

“Hi,” she says, embroidering a forced smile onto her striking features. “Champagne is a bit shit, isn't it?”

George shrugs, sitting down beside her on the wide staircase. “Alex probably got it. He’s terrible at buying drink for parties.” 

There’s a silence.

“Me and Will broke up,” Mia blurts out like scratching an itch. “Today. It’s for good this time.” 

George doesn’t say anything, mouth falling agape. _Hadn’t they only just gotten back together?_

“Shit, I… I’m sorry,” George says when he finally finds words on his lips. He doesn’t know what to think, because _what does this mean?_

“It’s alright,” Mia says in response. “I didn’t feel romantic love for him. It felt like I was supposed to love him, so I pretended to.” She finishes her champagne, places it on the bannister with an empty clink. She doesn't seem sad, just…wistful. George hopes she’s okay.

“Well, I hope you’re alright,” George says, laying a hand on her arm. She nods, standing up from the step. 

“Yeah, I’m fine. Weight off my shoulders,” she says. “I guess I’ll just miss his company. He’s good fun.”

George nods, drinks his beer.

“He, uh,” Mia says, turning back from the door. “He talked about you a lot.”

“I…Did he?” George questions, heart thudding irrationally in his chest. 

“Yeah,” Mia says. “He thinks you’re pretty great.” And a tiny, genuine smile graces her features before she heads back through the door and back to the party.

*

George can hear the sixty-second countdown begin, echoing from downstairs to the landing where he stands, hand on the cool railing. His third can of beer is nearly empty in his other hand. Everyone is chanting downstairs, the warm sound like a dense, sweaty crowd. 

He still can’t find Will. 

“Will?” He calls out, voice loud and startling in the emptiness of James and Fraser’s upstairs part of their apartment. There’s no response. 

He pushes open the door nearest to him, and Will’s not there. The door hits the wall and bounces back.

He panics, because it’s nearly midnight and he doesn’t know what he wants in any scenario, or where Will is. He runs to the next door, the next, the next. Until the last door rattles forcefully open by a gust of wind and George realises that the balcony door in that last room is open, cream curtains blowing against the soot-black London sky. 

He trudges forwards into the room, wind catching him off guard as he reaches the open door. It feels like he’s walking underwater as the curtain blows back in such a way that Will’s tall silhouette fills his vision. He’s facing away, and he's taken off his jumper, bare arms against the railing and watching the busy city road down below.

And it’s been so long since it’s been like this. Too long since he's approached him with any kind of intent. George can’t help but just admire him for a long few seconds because, in a few minutes time, he could’ve fucked it all up and he’ll never see Will again. 

“Will?” He says quietly, padding onto the damp wood balcony. The wind is a gale, so George slides the door shut behind him. They’re isolated outside the flat, and the countdown downstairs hits forty, muffled behind glass and doors. 

The latter turns to face him, jolting out of his daydream. “What’re you doing here, love?” Will asks, voice soft and gentle. “It’s almost midnight. Go back to the party.”

The nickname pangs in his chest. George had missed his voice. “Well, you _are_ the party,” he says. “It’s a bit shit down there now.”

“I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me,” Will says with a grin. “But seriously, go back inside. You’ll catch your death out here.”

“Guess you’ll have to watch me die then,” George says, looking up at him with a smile. Will laughs at that.

There’s a comfortable silence accompanied by the wind. 

“So, I heard you and Mia broke up,” George adds. “Sorry to hear that.” 

_Twenty_.

“You know very well that neither of us wanna talk about that right now,” Will says with a grimace. He checks his watch. “Twenty seconds, eh? Isn’t your New Years’ kiss waiting for you downstairs?”

“No, I don't have one,” George admits. “I’ve never had one, actually.”

Will is shocked at this. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not,” George says. 

“Well, I’ll be damned. That’s bloody depressing,” Will says. “That can’t happen this year.” The countdown hits ten, and the chants from downstairs get louder, more insistent. His heart thuds rapidly in his chest as he and Will stand opposite each other on the balcony. _Five_. 

“Yeah? Kiss me then,” George says, a surge of confidence shooting through him just as the chants get louder and louder.

And Will doesn’t say anything in response, he just leans down just as the clocks strike midnight, cups the side of George’s face in his hand and presses their lips together like a crescendo, like the recapitulation of a sonata. There are fireworks on the London horizon and all around them, and there’s mindless cheering from downstairs about something or another, but George doesn’t care, because Will’s a bloody good kisser. His hand slides to the side of George's neck, kisses him harder like the world is ending at that moment. He kisses with force and fights against his lips, but also like George is exquisite, like a precious artwork in a gallery. 

When they break apart, George is pink in the face, heart racing. He doesn’t know what to think.

And Will’s grinning, all satisfied with himself, light from the bedroom filtering across his face. “That alright for your first New Years’ kiss?” He asks with his eyebrows raised, smug.

“Shut up, idiot,” and then George leans up on his tiptoes and kisses him again, because he can’t resist.

*

George blinks at his computer screen as if it’ll explain everything to him in black words on white paper, but it doesn’t, the dialog box continuing to flash insistently at him. It wants an answer.

‘ _Confirm Create Channel?’_

There’s a knock on the door at that second, and George blinks, realising he’s been staring at it for way too long. He gives it a second to see if Alex will let whoever it is in, but then he remembers that it’s too early for Alex to have even _considered_ waking up, especially when he’s hungover. So he leaves his computer as it is, question left unanswered in the middle of his screen.

He opens the door to James. 

“Hi,” George says, leaning against the doorframe. “Alex is asleep, unsurprisingly.”

James is nervous, tapping his foot and eyes flickering back and forth. “That’s alright,” he says. “Can I come in?”

“Course you can,” George says, opening the door for James to step in.

James laughs as he collapses onto the sofa in the lounge. “You okay if I wait around for Alex to wake up?”

George nods. “Sure. You want a coffee or something?”

“If you're offering,” James says with his charming grin, feet tapping against the wooden floor, anxiously waiting.

George makes them both a coffee, hoping that whatever is going on with Alex and James has been sorted or _will_ be sorted. Alex deserves nothing but the best after most of last year spent babysitting George’s idiotic arse. 

“Did you kiss him?” George questions carefully, putting James’ mug on the coffee table. 

James looks up at him, suddenly so open and honest and vulnerable. All six foot four of him on the sofa, in an instant, seems so small. “Yeah.”

George pauses, before sitting next to him on the couch, slapping an arm on his shoulder. “Yeah?”

“He was grinning afterwards, with that smile on his face,” James says, a reminiscent smile drifting onto his face, holding the mug of tea in both hands. “He looked so happy.”

“I’m so happy for you, mate,” George says. 

“I want to tell him today,” James says, nerves shining through. “I want him to know that I’m not scared to be public.”

George whoops, jumping up from the sofa and dragging James up with him. “I’m so proud of you!” He says, dancing them around in a circle of the living room, while the radio plays in the background, muffled from the kitchen. George consequently realises that he’s somehow doing okay.

“What are you both doing?” A voice then questions from the doorway. Alex watches them, eyebrows raised and amusement in his sleep-laced voice. He’s squinting in the light, and his hair is mussed from sleep.

“I’ll let you both talk,” George says, and he does, hoping that it all gets sorted as he shuts the door to his bedroom. 

In a haze, he flops onto his bed, staring up at the white ceiling. He feels like he’s watching himself from above, behaving like an idiot over some boy he met months ago. _It’s okay,_ he thinks. It’s okay if Will thinks that last night was a mistake. He can deal with the consequences if Will only kissed him out of pity. It’ll be hard to look him in the eye ever again, but George thinks it’ll be okay. After a while.

His phone vibrates next to him on the bed after ten minutes or so, and he clambers to pick it up, squinting at the screen. It’s Will, and his heart thuds louder than he’s ever heard it before, because what if Will never wants to see him again?

‘ _Can I come over’_ the message reads, and George’s heart double stops, because today is when Will tells him that last night was a mistake and that he hates him.

‘ _Yeah of course’_ George replies like it’s nothing, before throwing his phone back onto the bed and panicking for ten minutes until the strong rap at the door brings him back into reality.

George clambers to the door, runs a hand through his messy hair before unlocking the door and pulling it open. 

“Hi,” George says, squinting in the winter sun. 

Will doesn’t look hungover at all, even though he must’ve been drunk out of his mind to kiss George last night. He’s wearing a blue shirt, and black jeans cut off at the ankle. He looks good, and George’s breath catches in his throat. “You want me to make you a cuppa?” He asks, smile filling his features like the sun. He hates that he has that effect. 

“I’m not letting you make _me_ a drink in _my_ own flat, Will,” George says. “It’s rude.”

Will scoffs and pushes past him into the kitchen. “Yeah, but then you’ll have to make me one, and not gonna lie, you’re a bit shit at making tea, Georgie,” he calls.

“Hey!” George defends, storming into the kitchen, after noticing that Alex and James have left the flat. “I’m very good at making tea.”

“You can keep telling yourself that,” Will says, back facing him as he fills the kettle with water. “But I am the tea king. I was raised, in Newcastle, to make it immaculately.” 

George leans against the counter. “I’ll let you have it, I suppose,” he says. “But I’m not forgetting this slander.”

Will grins, turning to face him after clicking the kettle into place. “You hungover?”

George nods. “A little. I didn’t drink that much.”

“I only had a pint,” Will says. “I wanted to be clear-headed.” Will looks him dead in the eye, says nothing else, but it somehow makes sense. George swallows.

When the kettle boils, Will turns away from him to pour the water into two reusable travel mugs. “I thought we could go to that park we went to in the spring.” His voice seems hopeful, and George’s heart thumps in his chest. 

“Yeah, sounds good,” he replies. 

*

They walk side by side along the quiet pathway to the park, the only sound their footsteps and the whisper of the bare trees. George wants to say so many things, but he doesn’t know how to put it without feeling needy or desperate or clinging to small strands of memories that barely exist. George can still feel the ghost of his hand cool against his neck from last night, and he almost swears it’s real, but then he looks down, and both of Will’s hands are shoved in his own pockets.

“Do you think we could talk about last night?” Will says after a while, and the sound of his voice implies he was building himself up to saying it. “I don’t want any…mixed signals.”

The frosted hedgerow opens up to the park, so familiar and yet so distant in his mind. The swing-set still lies broken against the grass, wood splintered and left to rot. “Course,” George answers simply, detaching his mind from the possibility that this could all go horribly wrong.

They sit in a secluded part of the field surrounding the park, damp, dewy grass tickling their legs. A leafless tree casts spindly shade over them, and the wintry sun hits Will’s face in such a way that the pit of George’s heart feels cavernous. It feels like the end of a song, the part where you wish for it to start again on unheard ears, so it can be experienced once more.

“I need to say this,” Will says, suddenly looking nervous. “I think you’re fucking brilliant, George, and I don’t regret what happened last night.” There's a pause, and all George can focus on is the rustling of the trees and the wind past his ear. “I think…I think I would kiss you again.”

George looks up at him, a small smile on his lips and freckled cheeks reddening. “So kiss me again.”

And then Will’s shuffling over in the wet grass next to him, hand spanning George’s cheek before he’s leaning in and pressing their lips together. It’s not like last night, because that kiss was aggressive and deep, whereas this kiss is soft and meaningful, and Will cups his face like he’s fragile, priceless art. And Will’s hand is damp and cold from the dew. It means more than their last kiss because George knows he means it, knows he likes George back.

“I’m sorry,” Will says when they break apart. “For…for being stupid before. I was just so confused with myself.” He’s glowing, handsome and striking like the first day they met.

“I’m sorry too,” George says, face red. “For also being stupid.”

Will shakes his head with his familiar crooked grin, before pressing a kiss to the corner of George’s mouth, teasing. “Knew you were different, on that first night when all us boys were playing Fifa,” he says, breath tickling against George’s neck. “You barely said a word, but I knew, you know? You were great.”

And it’s the end of the song because George supposes that he’s okay. And they’re in a tiny field in London, George’s cheek is damp and Will’s grinning at him as if the sun shines through his eyes. Maybe it does.

George’s words feel lazy and languid in his mouth when he finally replies. “ _And you’re alright, I guess_.” He laughs, twisting away from Will’s eyes, and decides right at that moment that if there ever was a Place, this was it.

And when George turns back to meet his eye, the colours of the landscape light up Will’s face like fairy-lights. 

*

George clicks _‘Confirm’_.

**Author's Note:**

> it's over! thank you so much for reading, and again, if you want to leave a lil comment letting me know what you thought then i would appreciate that muchly! comments (and george memeulous, but i digress) make my dead heart awaken.


End file.
